Ah. Nal-shi-ga malg-ah-yo! (That means, the weather is clear and beautiful. Try it on your co-teacher. They’ll be impressed.)
It’s almost spring, and more importantly, it’s almost the end of the winter doldrums. After a long period of hibernation, it’s nearly time for us public school teachers to teach again! Also just as exciting, it’s time for us hikers to hit the mountains around the Seoul and Gyeonggi-Do.
Hiking seems to be a forgotten past-time for Korea’s 20+ generation. Yiseul’s peers picked on her for wanting to do something as “dorky” and as “old-fashioned” as hiking. It’s a shame, not only because I love young people in Korea, but because when I was at Bukhansan National Park this Saturday, it suddenly occurred to me that this national past-time is probably one of the reasons why the life expectancy is a bit longer on this end of the globe. As ajummas and ajoshis passed us by decked out in full, bright mountain-man garb and hiking poles, There were few young people on the trail, nor were there many (or any) foreigners, but then, it’s not really peak season yet, is it?
The hint of spring is in the air. The air is cool and crisp, the snow is beginning to give way even in the highest, coldest parts of the mountain, and birds can be heard chirping in the distance. As we passed by the Seokguram Hermitage, which we couldn’t see from our trail, the peaceful sounds of monks chanting filled the air, complementing the birds. We stopped and sat, and enjoyed the peace and beauty of an emerging spring.
I have told my family back home that in Korea, if you don’t encounter a shop on the trail, you’re probably not actually on a trail at all. Even the summits of mountains in Namyangju have maekgoelli stands at the top! However, Bukhansan National Park forbids commerce on the trail once in the heart of the park. It’s this contrast with Seoraksan that makes Bukhansan feel even more remote at times, in spite of it being within the vicinity of Seoul. Hiking purists might applaud this, but Yiseul and I had a problem: we had nothing to eat but a bottle of maekgoelli for the top. It’s amazing how quickly I’ve grown to take for granted the things that initially weirded me out about Korea.
Our goal was to hike up to Jaunbong Peak, which I affectionately renamed “Jjambbong Peak,” after the Chinese hot-pot dish, probably because we were hungry. Eventually, Yiseul’s hunger got the best of her. We came up with a plan. I’d run up to the top of the peak to scout the terrain, and I’m come down to report to her on the difficulty and the view. After agreeing on the plan, I took a couple of big steps and started running up the trail.
Korea is infamous for its jagged mountains and its rock scrambles near the top of the mountains, and near the top of Jaunbong Peak was no different. At points, it got so steep that rails were placed into the mountain to assist with the ascent. In certain, shadier parts of the mountain, small splotches of ice remained. And yet, the ascent was crowded but not dangerous. It was lively at the top, with around 30 to 40 older Koreans within plain sight, the duality that is Korea standing before me. The skyline of Seoul sprawled out for many kilometers, like the legos of a six year old neatly arranged across his bedroom floor, competing for dominance with the mountain ranges but finding themselves instead swallowed up by them.
My appreciation for nature stems from acceptance that man will never be able to build anything on as grand a scale than our environment, which for some reason takes the pressure off of life. There is also something symbolic in climbing a mountain, something reinvigorating. Just like the most joyous aspects of life, it is not crucial to our survival to scale any mountain, and yet reaching the top is a wonderful feeling.
And yet, sometimes just reaching the tree line is also an accomplishment. As beautiful as the clear blue sky was, I knew that it wouldn’t be safe for Yiseul to hike up to the top on a completely empty stomach. I hiked back down to the camp where three trails merge towards Jaunbong Peak and found her with a friend she had made. She spoke to him in Korean, thanking him graciously for his help before turning to me and explaining what had happened.
“I had to pee, but I couldn’t find a place. This man offered me a mandarin, and I told him I wouldn’t eat it because I had to pee. So he helped me find a quiet spot to pee.” A kind man indeed, because you’re more likely to find a makgoelli stop than a secluded place to pee on the trails of Korea.
After thanking the man, we trekked down towards the bottom. We stopped occasionally for breaks, and Yiseul used her wide eyes and fluency in Korean to acquire food from sympathetic passer-bys. About two hours later, we were sitting down at a restaurant, eating tofu and drinking from a large bowl of dongdongju.
I was initially shocked about the differences between hiking in Korea and hiking in the west. An avid hiker back home, I enjoyed the quiet, spread out solitude of nature when I hiked famous trails in New Zealand, the Adirondacks, and the Canadian Rockies. At six months into my contract, having adjusted to the Korean pace of life, I can say without hesitation that I enjoy the trail camaraderie, the makgeolli stops, the chants of Buddhist monks, the very duality that Korea represents to me: the largest city in the world’s most wired country that is still swallowed up by the majesty of mountains.
Phillip Ruane, Guri-si, Gyeonggi-Do, Korea
- How to get there: Take line 1 to Dobongsan, and follow all the ajummas with backpacks, pink and purple coats, and retractable hiking poles. You’ll find it, trust me.
- Cost: It’s free. It’s a hike. Make sure you wear proper shoes and dress appropriately, and don’t forget to buy food before you go up the mountain!
- Info: Check out the English version of Korea National Park website
…brought to you by the Adventure Teaching Korea team…
